School's Out
by AlElizabeth
Summary: AU Teen!Chester. Sam gets accepted to Stanford and tells John the good news. His father though, is less than pleased, and seeks the help of an outsider to show Sam that he should be hunting monsters and not going to college.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Sam didn't even dare to breathe as he stared down at the envelope in his hands. He knew exactly what was inside… a letter from Stanford University.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, the eighteen-year old tore open the creamy white envelop, his eyes prickling with tears as he gazed at the red crest for the school at the top of the thrice-folded letter, gathering the strength to let his eyes travel down the page and find out if he would be admitted or not.

"Dear Samuel," the young man read in a whisper, his heart hammering in his chest, "I take great pleasure in offering you admission to Stanford University's Class of 2005…"

The letter began to shake, Sam's hands trembling. He didn't even finish reading.

He was in. He couldn't believe it. He had hoped and prayed… but always harboured a shred of doubt that he wouldn't be good enough. Now all that insecurity was blown away by one single piece of paper.

He could finally get away. Leave this life of hunting and killing monsters. No longer would he have to worry about dying every other day. He could finally have that normal life he'd always dreamed about.

"Sammy?"

The young man's head snapped up and he hurriedly shoved the letter from Stanford behind his back as his older brother stepped into the motel room.

"Yeah, Dean?" he asked, trying not to look like he'd been caught doing something illegal.

"Dad just called," his brother said, standing in the doorway, "He wanted to know if you'd finished the research on that Amarok yet."

Sam nodded and reached towards his backpack, pulling out a stack of papers from inside, "Yeah, I have it all here."

"Great," Dean said and grabbed the papers, "He wants to take this thing out tonight."

Sam let out a sigh of relief as his brother turned away but then stiffened as Dean turned around and peered suspiciously at him.

"You alright?" the twenty-two year old asked, "You're face is kind of pale."

"Oh… uh…" Sam stammered, "I've got a bit of a headache."

Dean nodded, "You should lie down for a while before we go out, Dad's gonna need both of us for this hunt."

"Sure," Sam replied distractedly and watched nervously as his brother exited the room.

Sighing, Sam fell back against the bed, closing his eyes.

_W_

"Dad?" Sam asked as John parked the Impala right beside his large black truck, turning in the driver's seat to look tiredly at his youngest son.

"Can I talk to you?" Sam asked quietly, ignoring the look Dean gave him before climbing out of the shotgun position and heading towards the motel room.

"Can't it wait until morning, Sam?" his father asked, "I'm tired and-"

"NO!" Sam cried, then sat back, embarrassed that he'd let his nerves get the better of him, "I mean, it's really important… and it won't take long."

John sighed and opened the Chevy's door, "Fine."

Sam scrambled out of the car and followed his father inside. He had wanted to talk to his Dad in private, tell Dean the news after he had found out how John would take it, but now it couldn't be helped. Dean flopped down on his bed; his eyes were closed but he was certainly going to be listening in to the entire conversation between his brother and father.

Sam stood in the middle of the room, unsure of where to position himself. John shrugged out of his jacket, laying the garment across the scratched wooden table that stood in front of the window and turned to his youngest, waiting somewhat impatiently for the news that was so important that it couldn't be held off for a few hours.

"So?" John asked, one black eyebrow rose in expectation, "What is it?"

"Well, uh… um…" Sam hesitated and closed his eyes, knowing his Dad wasn't going to like his stammering, "I finish high school in June and I kind of… applied to some colleges."

Sam looked at his father and saw John was frowning.

"I got a letter back today from one of them," the eighteen-year old continued, knowing there was no going back now, "And I was accepted. I got into Stanford… on a full scholarship so I don't even have to pay tuition or anything as long as I keep my gra-"

"No," John said simply and Sam gaped at his father, mouth open in shock.

"But… you don't even have to pay-" Sam tried again but John shook his head, "I said no. You're not going. I need you here, Sam. Dean and I both need you here."

Sam stared in disbelief at his father.

"But-" the eighteen-year old began but his father held a hand up, "You are not going to college and that's final. It's not up for discussion."

Sam didn't know what to say. He felt anger boil up inside him and he clenched his hands into fists.

"You can't make me stay!" he shouted, "I'm going!"

John's face darkened and from the corner of his eye, Sam saw Dean sit up abruptly, a concerned expression on his face.

"Hey, its late and we're all tired," the twenty-two year old said in an overly-friendly tone, "Why don't you two sleep on it and talk about this college thing in the morning?"

Dean reached out to put a hand on his father's shoulder but John pushed him away roughly.

"There will be no more talking about college," John hissed, pointing a finger at Sam, "You are not going and that is final."

Dean looked from his father to his brother, clearly concerned there was going to be bloodshed.

"You can't force me to stay!" Sam egged his father on- he couldn't' help it, he was just so angry John was denying him this without even listening to him- "What are you going to do? Lock me in the Impala's truck?"

"I'll do whatever I have to do to get these damn ideas out of your head," John hissed.

Sam stood still, stunned by his father's threat, not moving as John grabbed his jacket from the table and left the motel room, slamming the door after himself and starting up his big black truck, tearing out of the parking lot as though he had Hellhounds on his heels.

_SPN_

John stared at the label of his half-finished bottle of beer, feeling as shitty as he ever had.

He sighed and wiped a hand over his face. He shouldn't have said those things to Sam and he knew it… it was just… that kid knew how to press his buttons and damn it if he didn't let his hot temper get the better of him.

He knew he should probably head back to the motel soon, apologize to Sam and see if he still wanted to talk about college.

John still didn't want Sam to go but there was no harm in discussing it, was there? At least his son wouldn't think he was some uncaring tyrant like he had been earlier.

Raising the bottle to drain the last of the beer, John looked up, startled when a man slid into the booth across from him.

"Can I help you?" the hunter asked, eyeing the man warily.

The guy appeared to be older than John himself, his hair and beard mostly silver. He had light blue eyes and a face that had crow's feet around his eyes and laugh lines around his mouth, lightly tanned.

He was wearing a faded denim jacket, a grey t-shirt and blue jeans with heavy black army boots.

"I think I might be able to help you," the stranger said, "Flint's the name, Eli Flint."

The man held his hand out and John shook it, still confused and a bit wary.

"I'm sorry," Flint said, "I just saw your long face and wondered if there was anything I could do to cheer you up."

The man spoke jovially, as if he were in an exceptionally good mood and that set John on edge but he also felt himself relaxing.

"Wait," he said, "I've heard of you. You help hunters, don't you?"

Flint nodded, grinning, "That's absolutely correct. Now, let me know what I can do for you?"

John grunted, taking a drink of his beer before mumbling, "Can you convince my kid not to go to college?"

Eli Flint, somewhat famous among hunters, was known for being able to assist those who were feeling as though they couldn't continue, whether they were desirous of ending their lives or pursuing a less dangerous career path and leading them back into the fold. John had never met the man until now but the many stories circulating about Flint made him seem as though he was some sort of miracle-worker, able to turn it around for even the most depressed hunter, giving them a renewed purpose to continue killing monsters and saving innocent lives.

Flint grinned widely, showing off numerous white teeth, "I could just."

_W_

John drove back to the motel room, feeling much better then he had a few hours earlier.

He had a plan. With Eli Flint's help Sam would realize how college wasn't for him and that his true calling was hunting with his father and brother.

Flint had warned that it may take some time for Sam to be completely convinced that killing monsters was the right thing for him but John didn't mind, as long as his youngest was shown how foolish he had been and returned with a renewed vigor to hunt, the time it took wouldn't matter.

Eli wouldn't take Sam under his wing just yet though, he had suggested they wait until the eighteen-year old was ready to go to Stanford, that way Dean would be none the wiser to his brother's whereabouts. John was certain his eldest wouldn't approve of calling on outside help to assist Sam in transitioning back to being a full-time hunter.

John smiled as he parked his truck and saw the lights out in the motel room. Quietly, he crossed to the sidewalk and opened the door. In the dim light from the parking lot he saw both his sons sleeping on one bed, something they reluctantly did if money was tight and they couldn't afford two rooms. Closing the door with care, John slipped off his boots as he walked, sinking onto the lumpy mattress of the bed closest to the door and closed his eyes, falling quickly into a contented slumber.

**Author's Note:**

**Fanfic title comes from an Alice Cooper song.**

**Please take a moment to review, ladies and gents.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Sam opened the Impala's door and stepped out, grabbing his duffel bag from the floor of the passenger's side as he did so. John exited the driver's side and walked around the front of the Chevy towards his youngest son.

"Thanks for the ride," Sam said, smiling.

John returned the gesture but it didn't meet his eyes.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked, "There's still time to change your mind. We could go back to the motel room and forget about all of this."

Sam shook his head though. John nodded, knowing his son wasn't going to see things his way… well, not without a little help.

Sam hesitated for a moment before he reached out with both hands and hugged his father tightly.

"I'm not going away forever," he muttered, his face pressed against the shoulder of John's jacket.

The older hunter gripped his son tightly, "You'll be back before we know it."

Sam chuckled and broke away from the embrace, his expression suddenly sad.

"I wish Dean would have come," he told John. Dean had been the one so excited to hear that he wanted to go to college so it upset Sam slightly when he'd said he'd stay at the motel instead of going to the Greyhound station with them.

John shrugged, "I'm sure you'll hear from him soon."

Sam nodded and looked towards the big grey building with the Greyhound bus line logo above the doors.

"You'd better get in there," John said, "You don't want to be late."

Sam nodded and began walking towards the doors. Before entering the depot, he paused and looked back, "I'll call you when I get to California."

John nodded and waved a hand, watching his son disappear into the building. He walked around to the driver's side, opened the door and sat down, taking his cell phone out as he did so.

"Hey," he said as his eldest answered, "Just dropped Sam off. I'll be back soon."

John closed the driver's side door but didn't immediately pull out of the parking lot. He sat for a while, watching the doors, and thinking.

He was immensely grateful to Eli Flint for agreeing to help Sam, he didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't met the man, Sam was just so stubborn. John hoped Eli would be able to get through to him and help show him that he was needed as a hunter, that knowing what he knew about the things that were really out there made him selfish if he chose instead to go to some hoity-toity college.

John felt himself smiling, imagining being reunited with his youngest son again, Sam full of a renewed desire to hunt monsters and save innocent people.

Putting the Impala in drive, John pulled out of the parking lot and drove slowly back to the motel room, stopping once to watch a Greyhound bus as it drove past him on the road before continuing on.

_SPN_

Dean was so proud of his brother. He'd been just as surprised as John to find out that Sam had been accepted into one of the best colleges in the country; Dean though, hadn't been a dick about it.

After that initial argument while led to their father storming out of the motel room to go find a bar and get shit-faced, John seemed to have mellowed out.

Sam had been terrified of facing their father upon his return but it seemed that his younger brother's fear was all for naught. When they woke up the next morning- John had slipped back into the room while they were both asleep- he wanted to talk with Sam and seemed to have forgotten all about the shouting match they had had the night before.

Dean didn't know exactly what they said to each other- he left to go pick up breakfast so his father and brother could have some privacy- but Sam later told him that John was okay with him going away if it was what he truly wanted. Of course John wasn't happy about Sam's decision but he seemed to realize his youngest would be miserable if he didn't go to college. Dean also guessed that John was hoping Sam would get bored of it and come back in a few months.

The weeks leading up to Sam's departure were not strained exactly but tinged with anticipation. As school began to wrap up and the first day of July crept closer, that sense of excitement was so palpable Dean could have cut it with a knife. His brother talked non-stop about California and clearly couldn't wait to leave. Dean was happy for his brother but his throat tightened every time he thought about the fact that in a few short weeks Sam was not going to be with them anymore. It wasn't like his brother was leaving forever; Sam promised to call Dean as often as possible and that'd he'd come back for Thanksgiving and Christmas break too. Dean was glad his brother would be returning for the holidays, they just wouldn't be the same without Sam, he knew. Dean knew that it would take a little bit for him to get Sam's absence but he reminded himself that his brother was going to college, to make something of himself and he would be much happier in California than motel-hopping with them.

John seemed to realize that Sam was only focused on one thing: Stanford, and didn't try and push him into going on any hunts, asking only that he work on research. Dean was glad that their Dad wasn't forcing Sam to go with them on hunts, partly because he knew how much his brother disliked that part of the job and because he was certain something would happen with his sibling so distracted. John might not like the idea of Sam going to college but at least he appeared to accept that his youngest was going, no matter what he said. Dean secretly wondered if their Dad thought Sam would get tired of a normal, college student existence and come back to them.

Fat chance, Dean thought smugly; Sammy's stubborn, just like you, Dad.

_W_

The day Sam planned to head to California dawned bright and clear, a wonderful summer morning and not great for being cooped up in a bus for hours on end.

Dean felt more than a little bit emotional when he saw Sam packing his duffel bag after taking a shower. In just a few hours Sam would be on his way to college and Dean might not see him for a while.

John wasn't in the room. He had offered to go get breakfast so Dean and Sam were alone.

The older brother cleared his throat, drawing his sibling's attention to him.

"Sammy," Dean said thickly, cursing himself silently for getting all weepy, "You be careful, okay?"

Sam nodded, "What do you think's going to happen to me? I'm just going to school."

Dean shrugged, "You never know. You're a magnet for trouble."

Sam smiled, "I'll be okay."

Dean returned the gesture, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes, "I know you will."

_SPN_

Sam stared out the large window of the Greyhound, chin propped up on the heel of his hand as he idly watched storefronts zip by.

He shifted in the seat, slightly uncomfortable. The room available for his legs was far too small and his knees were pressed hard against the back of the chair in front of him. Glancing to his left, he saw that the teenage girl sitting beside him barely looked up from her cell phone as he fidgeted; she was too focused on texting to pay much attention to anything else.

Sam sighed and looked back out the window, wondering if he should call Dean or his Dad.

No, he'd only been on the bus for a couple of hours and if he called now his father might get the wrong impression and suggest he come back. Sam had promised to call once he arrived in California and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Deciding that he had nothing better to do, Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes, recalling from years of being on the road that time seemed to move faster when he was asleep.

The rhythmic rumble of the big bus's tires on the road and the quiet conversation of the other passengers around him soon lulled Sam into a deep sleep, the young man unaware that he would never arrive in California as he intended.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to Jenjoremy for helping me out with this chapter!**

**Thanks to LotRia, Hacked It Out and Fell, jannyverveer, 1hotpepper, Frakking Toasters, jo1966, sarah, SamDeanLover28, Kas3y, Trucklady53, StyxxsOmega, BranchSuper, whatnosheep, SPN Mum, Souldarkalone, angel1718, IcyFox West and Guest for reviewing.**

**I promise that Eli Flint will make his move in the next chapter! Take a moment and leave a comment and I will try and update quickly!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"John Winchester," the man with salt-and-pepper hair and dark eyes told Flint and Eli nodded.

"I guess I don't have to tell you my story," the father said and flagged down the waitress for another beer.

"You want anything?" John asked but Eli shook his head.

"So your son wants to go to college?" Eli asked, turning the conversation back to the previous topic.

"Yeah, Sam, my youngest, just got accepted to Stanford," John elaborated.

"Good school," Flint said truthfully, "One of the best."

John grimaced.

"I just don't understand it," he lamented, "Where did this come from? I mean, I got drafted into the army before I left high school and was in the war… Dean, my eldest, didn't graduate and neither of us are the worse for it."

John paused when the waitress returned with the drink. The father grunted his thanks and took a long swallow of the beer before continuing:

"Mary- my wife- died when Sam was just a baby… he doesn't even remember her. I'd think he'd be the one wanting to find her killer… more so than even Dean or I… but no, all he's ever talked about since September was applying to college… I couldn't talk him out of it… no matter what I said he wasn't going to listen to me… what do I know? I'm just his father…"

All the while John spoke, Eli nodded in sympathy.

"I've seen this before," he told John and the hunter looked at him curiously.

"You have?" John asked, surprised.

Flint nodded sagely, "A lot of the younger hunters just don't have the same drive, the same commitment to their work as their elders do. They're selfish, whether it's on purpose or not."

It was John's turn to nod, "Yeah… I know what you mean."

"You said you could help Sam?" the father asked and Eli smiled.

"Yes, I can," he told John sincerely, "But I can tell you right now that it probably won't be easy to convince him to continue hunt-"

John shook his head, "Do whatever you need to do to make him stay."

Eli leaned back against the booth, slightly surprised at John's dismissive attitude.

"Alright," Flint said, "But I have some rules that must be followed once Sam enters the program."

John took a drink of beer and leaned forward, listening intently.

"Once I get started, I cannot allow you to contact Sam in any way," Eli told John, "I will call you when I'm finished working with your son."

"Okay," the father said slowly, "What happens then?"

"We will arrange a meeting so that you can take Sam back," Eli continued.

"What if you can't help Sam?" the father asked.

Flint smiled, "My program has never failed, John."

"Anything else?" the father asked and Eli nodded.

"It would be in Sam's best interest," he began, "If you did not mention college again to your son or that he was ever accepted into Stanford."

Now John began to look very confused.

"Why?"

Eli leaned forward on his elbows, "It would only serve to upset him, I am sure, and you don't want to do that, do you? Just let him relax over the next couple of months and when he's ready to leave we'll make sure he ends up with me rather than at college."

John shook his head. The father clearly cared about his son and only wanted what was best for him, even if that meant taking the chance to go to college from his child, Eli saw that and empathized with the man.

If everything worked out, as it should though, Sam Winchester would be back with his family shortly, hunting monsters and saving innocent people as though he had been born to that very calling.

The talk then moved to the day and time Eli was to pick Sam up. He and John decided that it would be best not to tell Dean what was going to happen and that Eli would meet up with Sam on his way to California. The specific route and bus Sam would take could be sorted out later, closer to the young man's departure, but for now a rudimentary plan was put into place.

John stood up and shook Eli's hand vigorously, "Thank you so much, I really appreciate this and I am sure Sam will too."

"No need to thank me," Flint told him, "I am simply trying to help your son do his job."

The father nodded and reached for his wallet.

"Please," Eli said, holding a hand out to stop John, "Let me."

Taking a couple of bills from his own wallet, Flint set them on the table and turned, walking out of the bar, smiling.

_W_

Every five minutes or so Eli's eyes flicked upwards, towards the front of the bus where Sam Winchester was sitting, as though making sure the young man was still there.

Flint and John had spoken again a handful of times after their initial meeting in the bar the night Sam had received his acceptance letter, the father and Eli honing their plan down and John telling the man about his youngest son.

Eli looked down at his watch. The bus should be stopping in a couple of hours. Flint had no doubt that his plan would go off without a hitch and he'd soon be on his way to helping Sam Winchester realize that hunting was the only vocation for him.

_SPN_

Sam was jolted awake by the bus slowing suddenly.

Groggily, he peered out the window and saw that it was pulling into a rest area with a large parking lot that surrounded a low, square brown brick building advertising for McDonald's, Arby's and Dunkin' Donuts.

The Greyhound pulled into a parking spot and the driver opened the doors, with a tired, "Half an hour," warning spoken through the speaker system.

Sam waited for the mad rush of passengers to die down before he even attempted to stand up. It seemed as though everyone was in a hurry to get something to eat or take a crap in a bathroom that was bigger than a closet.

"Damn it," Sam muttered as he was forced to duck his head to avoid hitting the ceiling, unable to stand at full height, his knees protesting the sudden movement.

Reaching down and rubbing his aching legs, Sam slowly made his way out of the bus, limping slightly.

Once he was free of the confining Greyhound, the young man straightened and stretched, feeling his cramped muscles slowly unwind, glad for the short reprieve. Peering around, he saw that open field flanked the side of the rest area parking lot the bus was on, rickety wooden picnic tables arranged close to the asphalt for those who wanted to eat their fast-food meals outside. The far side of the parking lot, across from the three-in-one restaurant had large trees lining the edge of the pavement and, surprisingly fewer cars than the sunbaked side.

Sam glanced for a moment at the yellow and red McDonald's sign before deciding that he wasn't really hungry and chose instead to take a walk and try and ease his cramped leg muscles.

Sam walked slowly, relishing the chance to stretch his legs- he might not get another opportunity for a few hours once he returned to the bus- but quickly realized just how hot it was outside and why, despite the numerous vehicles, few people were taking advantage of the fresh air.

Waves of heat floated up from the black tarmac as the sun beat down from atop. Sam felt a bead of sweat trickle down his nose and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Looking up, he saw the trees across the parking lot, casting cool blue shade against the grass and pavement.

Taking long strides- wanting to get out of the sun but not keen on sitting in the crowded, loud, albeit air-conditioned restaurant- Sam started across the parking lot towards the shade trees.

The young man reached the far side of the rest area, nearing the parked cars lined up along the edge of the pavement. He saw that he was completely alone. No one else was outside and that suited Sam just fine. He could use some quiet to think.

"Sam?"

The young man, standing in between a red Nissan and an old silver Thunder Bird Dean would love, stopping when he heard someone call his name.

Frowning, Sam looked around; who was that? Maybe some hunter he knew? Caleb, maybe, or Joshua.

The young man only sensed the presence behind him too late. Sam tried to turn around when he felt something press against his shoulder blades- oh God, it felt like a gun, was it a gun- before he felt a sharp, hot pain and the parking lot dissolved into grey, slowly flooding to black as unconsciousness overtook him.

_SPN_

Eli caught Sam Winchester underneath the armpits before he could hit the pavement and slowly lowered him to the ground, pocketing the taser once the teen was on lying on the asphalt in front of his car's trunk.

Despite the large windows on the sides of the brown building, Eli wasn't concerned about being seen, these days people barely looked away from their phones long enough to drive their cars.

Moving quickly nevertheless, Flint unlocked his trunk before slipping two plastic zip ties from the pocket of his denim jacket and securing them around Sam's wrists and ankles, tightening them probably more than necessary. After all, the kid was a giant and Flint didn't want to take the chance that he might get loose. Grabbing Sam beneath the armpits once again, Flint heaved the young man up and shoved him bodily into his trunk. It was somewhat of a tight fit, Sam Winchester being tall and all arms and legs, but he managed to position the young man inside, happy to see that there was still some room left- he didn't like the idea of the teen being squished in the trunk- before he put his hand on the lid of the trunk, pausing to peer down at the unconscious young man.

Flint never really liked this part of the process; it always made them look at him as though he was evil, but it had to be done. None of them ever wanted to come willingly.

Sighing, Eli closed the trunk tightly, locking it and walked around to the driver's side of his car. He pulled out of the parking lot quickly and turned on the radio, jacking the volume when the Beatles' 'With A Little Help From My Friends' began playing.

_SPN_

Sam gasped, waking abruptly, and opened his eyes. Darkness pressed in against the young man and he cried out, confused and frightened.

Sam tried sit up, only to find he could barely move, his hands bound together tightly at the wrists, his ankles hobbled the same way so that he was lying on his side in the fetal position.

No, Sam thought; panic blossoming in his chest.

No, no, no, please, God this can't be happening… oh God what was happening?

Sam recalled the voice calling his name, the feeling of a gun- had it been a gun- against his back before everything had gone black.

Where was he?

Who had called his name?

The young man whimpered, terrified of the answers to his questions.

He squeezed his eyes shut as panic constricted his chest with iron bands.

This was wrong.

This was so very wrong.

He wanted out.

He needed out.

Sam opened his eyes, staring into nothing but darkness and began gasping for air, flailing and screaming to be let out, get me out, oh please I can't be in here

_W_

Sam stared into the darkness, eyes-half closed, his breathing rapid and shallow.

He was in the trunk of a car. He knew that now. Not that it made much of a difference. Whoever was driving was either ignoring him or couldn't hear him.

Sam sniffed; snot caked against his mouth and chin, his cheeks puffy and sore, eyes swollen from crying. His throat felt raw from screaming.

He felt shaky and weak, as though he was recovering from the flu. He was drained but he knew he'd need to fight when he came face-to-face with his kidnapper.

Just the thought of seeing the person who had done this to him made Sam's eyes burn with tears, his throat tighten with unvoiced sobs.

His knees were beginning to ache again from their cramped position- as were his arms- and he didn't think he'd be able to fight, much less run away.

"Please," Sam muttered, tasting salt on his lips, "Someone… Please help me…"

_W_

Sam stared straight ahead, praying and hoping that he could do it.

Inch by inch he moved his hands farther downward towards the pocket of his jacket where his cell phone was. If he could get his phone he could call his Dad or Dean or the police and get help.

Sam whimpered as his arms screaming in pain, the muscles aching fiercely from their confining position.

Slowly he managed to stick the fingers of his left hand into the pocket and he almost sobbed when he touched the cool plastic case of his phone.

If he could just reach it…

Sam froze. The car was slowing down.

The vehicle had done so before- for red lights- but this was different; he heard the distant crunch of gravel as though the driver were pulling over onto the shoulder of the road instead of in front of an intersection. The car stopped trembling beneath Sam as its engine was turned off and tears welled up in his eyes.

No, please no, he wasn't ready, not when he could almost reach his phone, reach help-

Sam was momentarily blinded when the trunk was opened and bright sunlight poured in. Whimpering and clenching his eyes closed, the young man slowly opened them, trying to see his captor's face, only to be met with an indistinct silhouette made by the sun shining over the figure's shoulder.

"What've you got there?" an oddly friendly voice asked and Sam flinched when he felt a rough, calloused hand shove his fingers away from his pocket and pull his cell phone out.

"Hm," the man said, "Forgot about this. It's alright, not your fault."

"Please," Sam said, his voice a rasp, "Don't-"

His captor slipped Sam's phone into the pocket of his own jacket and reached down causing the young man to flinch away.

The man grabbed Sam under the armpit and heaved him into a sitting position. The teen raised his arms to shield his eyes from the sun but before he could, his captor reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade.

"No-" Sam began, his heart pounding fearfully but the man only reached forward with the blade and sliced through the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles.

Sam stared at his kidnapper, still fearful but now confused.

"Get up," the man said brusquely and Sam slowly climbed from the T-Bird's trunk.

Before he could even think of running, the man reached out and grabbed a handful of Sam's hair at the back of his head, keeping the knife in the boy's line of sight and pushing him towards the right side of the car, the passenger's side.

Sam stumbled forward, nearly falling, as his legs protested the sudden movement. Reaching the front passenger's side, the teen's kidnapper opened the door and pushed him into the seat.

Sam stared at the man with watery eyes as the abductor reached inside and opened the glove compartment, revealing a half-dozen Kleenex packs, a roll of Mentos mints, a map of the United States… and a set of handcuffs.

The man grabbed the handcuffs and closed the glove compartment, before looping the chain between the silver shackles through the door's handle.

"Give me your wrists," Sam's kidnapper instructed and the young man cringed back, letting out a fearful whimper.

Leaving the cuffs to dangle form the door handle, the man pulled a small, black, stun gun from his jacket pocket. "Give me your wrists or I'll zap you again and stuff you back in the trunk."

Sam didn't want to go back into the trunk and shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes as he held his hands out, letting the man close the cold, metal cuffs around his wrists. His captor tugged on the chain with one hand before deciding that Sam wasn't going anywhere and closed the door, causing the young man to cry out in pain as his arms were shove back forcefully.

The teen watched the man warily as he walked around the back of the car, closing the trunk as he passed. Sam craned his neck as he struggled to follow his abductor's progress, the handcuffs forcing him to sit facing slightly to the right.

The man said nothing as he opened the driver's side door, sat down and started the car up again. The T-Bird began rolling forward slowly, accelerating quickly once it returned to the road.

Sam craned his neck to the left to try and get a decent look at the man who had kidnapped him.

He didn't _look _evil but Sam knew that was relative, even supernatural monsters sometimes appeared in guise of wolves to get closer to the sheep. The man appeared some years older than Sam's father, in his fifties or even early sixties, with grey hair and a neatly trimmed silver beard. His face was tanned and there were crow's feet at his pale blue eyes and laugh lines around his mouth. He was wearing a denim jacket, the shirt underneath a maroon button-up. Faded jeans and heavy-looking black army boots finished the ensemble.

The man glanced at Sam, noticing the teen's scrutiny and smiled.

"For a kid on his way to college you're pretty stupid."

Sam shuddered at the grin the man was giving him but didn't say anything, the guy was right. He shouldn't have tried to see who was calling his name out in that parking lot, no one he knew would hide and be all shifty about it anyway, if they wanted to talk to him. He should have known it was a bad idea.

But the man wasn't talking about, he continued, "You really thought your Daddy was just going to let you go 'play college' while people are dying?"

Sam stared wide-eyed at the man.

"How… do you know my Dad?"

The man's grin seemed to grow even wider- if that was possible- and he nodded, "Your father told me all about you, Sam."

The teen felt his heart skip a beat and he shook his head.

"Your family wants you to hunt," the man continued, "And I'm going to help you realize that it should be the only thing you do."

His family? Was Dean in on this too? Sam felt tears well up in his eyes. Dean had acted so happy for him, like he _wanted _him to go to California and get away from hunting. Was it all an act? If Dad had hired this man to kidnap Sam and then act like nothing was wrong then it made sense- awful sense- that Dean would be involved as well. Maybe they had _both _decided that he wasn't ever going to make it to college.

Looking up, Sam swallowed, glaring as fiercely as he could at the man, "You won't make me want to hunt. Ever."

His abductor shrugged, the smile never leaving his face.

"We'll see," he said, "I can be very persuasive."

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to Jenjoremy who nudged my muse and really helped me out with the ideas for this chapter.**

**Thanks to Jenjoremy, Kas3y, Trucklady53, jannyverveer, SPN Mum, SamDeanLover28, SerenityKieraSilverwind, reannablue, StyxxsOmega, and Mistycat for reviewing.**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sam stared anxiously out the passenger's side window.

All he could think about was the fact that his family, his brother and father, had set this thing up… that they had never intended for him to go to college.

The feeling of betrayal made Sam's throat clench and his eyes sting with emotion.

Forcing those thoughts away, the eighteen-year old instead focused on the matter at hand.

They had been driving for hours and he had no idea whatsoever where he was. No cars had passed by since Sam's kidnapper had let him out of the trunk and that made the young man very anxious. At first they had driven past farmer's fields and open meadows but now trees were pressing in on either side of the road, the forest grown right up against the asphalt.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, catching sight of the man turning his head to look at him, and stopped moving.

The teen's heart skipped a beat as the T-Bird began to slow down and Sam could just make out a narrow dirt strip cut into the forest, nearly hidden among the dense trees, looking more like a deer-path than an actual road.

The man turned the classic car onto this path, the vehicle bumping up and down on the washboard dirt track, leaves smacking against the roof and sides.

Sam craned his neck to peer over his shoulder back to the way they had come and was alarmed to see that the trees completely blocked his view of the narrow road.

Cold, blue shadows swept over the T-Bird and Sam shivered involuntarily.

Ten minutes went by, the car continuing to trundle down the narrow dirt path that seemed as though it would never end, before it suddenly opened up onto a clearing where an old cabin sat.

The cabin was large and sprawling. It was made of wood logs that had been cut roughly and covered with paint that might have once been yellow but had paled in the sun to white, flaking in the elements. A narrow porch bordered the front of the building, the steps looking old and cracked. An ancient lawn chair sat against the outside wall of the cabin on the porch. Two small, mean windows were set into the front of the cabin, peering out like suspicious eyes. The roof was covered in mossy, peeling cedar shingles.

Sam looked away from the cabin when the man opened the door and stepped out of the car, walking around the rear of the vehicle to his side.

The teen had to lean forward as the door was opened and the man took a small silver key from one pocket of his denim jacket and the stun gun from another.

Sam swallowed, his gaze locked on that small, black, pronged weapon and waited as his abductor unlocked one of the cuffs from his wrist, allowing him to sit up.

"Get up, Son," the man said, "And don't try anything you'd regret."

For emphasis he laid his thumb against the trigger of the taser and Sam nodded in understanding. Standing, his muscles stiff and sore from being crammed first trunk and then forced to sit for hours, Sam tensed when his captor grabbed his shoulder, touching the end of the stun gun to his back.

With a slight push, the man guided Sam in the direction of the cabin and the teen moved forward slowly, heart hammering in his chest.

The steps groaned beneath Sam's feet but held his weight as he climbed up and stood, facing the front door.

"Open it," the man told him and Sam reached out with the hand that didn't have the cuffs hanging from around his wrist and pulled the door open.

Another slight push and Sam and his kidnapper were inside. The front door opened right onto a combination kitchen and den. The floors were wood with rugs sitting on the threshold of the front door, on the floor in front of the sink and at the saggy couch. The kitchen had stained wooden cupboards that looked like they could use a fresh coat, an old, mint green 1960's era refrigerator and stove, a chipped and cracked farmhouse-style sink. A wooden table and matching chairs that looked as though they belonged in a rich family's dining room rather than in a moldering cabin in the middle of nowhere. From the corner of his eye, Sam could see that the den had a burnt-orange coloured couch, a maroon armchair and lime green ottoman. A large, boxy television sat atop a TV stand that appeared to have been fished out of a landfill.

The man prodded Sam with the stun gun, indicating that he move and the teen stepped into the kitchen. The man released his grip on Sam's shoulder- pressing the taser hard against his back- and pulled out one of the chairs.

"Sit," Sam's captor said and he did so while the man slipped the empty cuff around the chair's arm, tethering the teen to the sturdy piece of furniture.

Sam watched as the man tucked the stun gun back into his jacket pocket and turned his back, moving the short distance towards the cupboards. He opened one and pulled out a glass, filling it with water from the tap- forced to wait a minute or two as the tap gurgled, water spraying from the mouth before flowing steadily- before setting it on the counter as he opened a couple of more cupboards, extracting a saucer, a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. The man grabbed a butter knife from one drawer and proceeded to make the sandwich.

Questions bubbled up inside Sam as he sat watching the man work but the line of his captor's shoulders told the teen he was closed off and would not answer anything he was asked.

The man turned around, bringing both the sandwich and glass of water to the table and setting both before Sam before taking a seat across from him.

Sam eyed the man warily as he began to speak, his tone non-threatening and oddly friendly.

"I'm sorry I had to get to you like that," the man apologized, "It must have been very frightening for you."

Sam said nothing.

"But many of the people I help… well, they don't think they _need _help and would not come willingly, you understand."

"Who are you?" Sam asked, his voice sounding small and nervous, making him wince.

The man smiled and leaned forward, hand outstretched, "Eli Flint."

Sam stared at his kidnapper's hand but made no move to shake it.

Flint sat back, folding his hands on the table instead.

"I know you must be thinking the worst of me," he continued as though nothing had happened, "But all I want to do is help you, Sam."

"I don't need help," the eighteen-year old argued.

Flint's expression turned condescending and sympathetic.

"You were on your way to college," he said, "Clearly you do."

Sam scowled, "I don't want to hunt anymore! I want to have a normal life! I don't want to end up killed by some monster before I'm an old man!"

"And what about saving people?" Flint asked, "Don't you want to save innocent people anymore?"

Sam glared at the man.

"You don't understand," he told the man, "I'm not a good hunter. I suck at it. My… father… knew it… never let me forget it. That's… that's why I thought he was okay with me going to school…"

Sam trailed off, the feeling of betrayal welling up again.

"I can empathize with you," Flint said, "I really can. I had a life before this; a regular life… a normal life… But how can you go back to that when you know what's really out there, Son? How can you go to college with all its essays and exams and Frat parties and act as though nothing was creeping around in the dark, just beyond your peripheral vision, like there was nothing waiting to sink its claws into you? I couldn't. I couldn't look at anything the same way again, knowing what was really out there."

Sam shook his head; "There are other hunters… ones better than me, to save people. No one will miss me."

Flint mirrored the young man's gesture, "Now that's where you're wrong. There are not as many hunters as you think, especially ones your age. What do you think will happen when old farts like me and your Dad are gone? Who's gonna carry the torch so to speak?"

Sam wasn't exactly sure what to say. He'd always assumed that there had been hunters as long as there had been monsters and felt confident that more men and women would take it upon themselves to kill the creatures that tormented the human race long after he himself was dead and gone.

Dean, Sam knew, would be a hunter until the day he died and Caleb Blacker too, who was only a few years older than his brother. There were younger hunters out there, of course there was.

"We need _everyone_ on board, Son," Flint told him, "It isn't about what you want or I want anymore. You know the kinds of things that are out there and it's your responsibility to keep those who don't know about monsters safe."

"If this is your way of trying to guilt me into forgetting about going to college," Sam growled, "It isn't going to work. I am not a hunter."

"What about your mother?" Flint asked, "Don't you want revenge on that sumbitch who killed her?"

Sam shook his head; sure, it hurt like hell that he had never even met his mother because she had been taken away when he was only a baby but killing the monster that had murdered her? It wouldn't bring her back. Sam had seen how thoughts of revenge had consumed his father and he would not allow himself to turn into that.

Flint sighed, "Your Daddy said you were stubborn as a mule. I was hoping to convince you to drop all this college nonsense."

Sam bristled, "I am not going to forget about college. I not a hunter anymore."

"Not even the thought of innocent people… women and children can make you change your mind?" Flint asked and Sam shook his head, tight-lipped.

The man sighed and raked a hand through his silver hair.

"You must be hungry, Son," he said, "Why don't you eat?"

Flint waved a hand in the direction of the glass of water and saucer.

Sam snarled, "I don't want to fucking eat! I want you to let me go and leave me alone!"

With his free hand, the teen swept the dishes off the table, sending them crashing to the floor.

"Leave me alone!" Sam shouted, "Let me go and leave me alone!"

Flint remained sitting, peering down at the broken dishes and ruined food.

"You'll be wishing you'd eaten that," he commented casually.

Sam watched silently, glowering, as Flint stood and walked around the table, stepping over the broken dishes and ruined food on the floor, making his way into the den.

The young man craned his neck to peer over his shoulder to track Flint's movements.

Sam's captor knelt down in front of the couch and lifted up the colourful rug that sat before it and the eighteen-year old could just make out the square outlines of a door hidden in the floorboards. One of the boards that made up the secret doorway had a circular carving near the end, about the same diameter as a baseball which allowed for a metal ring to sit in it, a crude handle for the ease of opening and closing the door.

Flint reached down and pulled up at the ring, opening the door. Sam could just see the top of a ladder leaning against the floorboards, leading down into the lower level- maybe a root cellar of some sort- but the rest was hidden in darkness.

The man opened the trapdoor all the way so that it lay flat against the floorboards and stood, walking back towards Sam.

The young man stared, wide-eyed at Flint and tugged unsuccessfully at the handcuff tethering him to the chair.

"Let me go!" Sam snapped, "You can't do this!"

Flint said nothing to him; instead he pulled out the familiar key and the stun gun once again. Reaching towards Sam he unlocked the cuffs.

"Stand up," he ordered and for a moment Sam hesitated.

Flint turned on the stun gun, a blue arc of electricity jumping between the prongs of the weapon and Sam quickly did as he was told. Sam grunted when the man grabbed his shoulder tightly and steered him towards the den.

The teen stared down at the open cellar and saw a square patch of packed-dirt floor at the bottom of the ladder, illuminated by the light in the den.

"I'm not going down there," Sam snarled stubbornly and tried to twist away from Flint's hold.

The eighteen-year old cringed as the man squeezed his shoulder painfully and he heard a crackle of electricity come from behind him.

"You can go down the easy way or the hard way," Flint grunted in his ear, "Either way, you're going down, Son."

Sam swallowed thickly. He didn't want Flint to think that he had the upper hand and that he was scared of him but Sam truly didn't want to get shocked by that taser again.

Gritting his teeth, Sam crouched down, reaching out for the ladder.

"Good boy," Flint praised but did not put the stun gun away.

Slowly Sam crept down the ladder, watching Flint as the man stared down at him. Once his feet touched the earthen floor, Eli motioned for him to step back and he pulled the ladder up quickly, reaching across and closing the trapdoor, leaving Sam in complete darkness.

_SPN_

Dean paced the motel room with his cell phone in his hand while John sat at the table, writing in his journal.

"He should have called by now," Dean muttered, "Why hasn't he called?"

John sighed and looked up. It had been a day since Sam had left for Stanford and- if that had indeed been his destination- should have arrived.

"Dean," he said, setting his pen aside, "I'm sure Sam's fine. He's probably just setting up his room, sorting out his schedule, that kind of thing."

"But-" Dean tried but John shook his head.

"He's eighteen, Dean, not eight," he reminded his eldest, "I'm sure Sam will call when he's ready and not before. Don't smother him."

Dean frowned; did he really smother his brother? He didn't think he did. He was sure if Sam thought he was being too overprotective he'd tell him.

John's expression turned less irritated and more sympathetic, "Dean, this is hard for all of us, being separated like this, but I'm sure that once Sam does call you won't be able to get him to shut up about Stanford."

Dean nodded, smiling, excited for his sibling's inevitable call. Tossing his phone onto his bed, the twenty-two year old sat down to watch some mindless television while his father finished writing in his journal.

**Author's Note:**

**Special thanks to Jenjoremy for helping out with the ideas for this chapter.**

**Thanks to zodiacflame, SamDeanLoverv28, LotRia, StyxxsOmega, Jenjoremy, Trucklady53, Kas3y, 1hotpepper, sarah, reannablue, Isdugat, angel1718, Souldarkalone and SPN Mum for reviewing.**

**Please take a moment to review and I'll try and post quickly.**


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